


Resurrection

by CrowWrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: F/M, Title is subject to change I guess Idk I'm bad at titling things, tags to be added MY BAD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowWrites/pseuds/CrowWrites
Summary: You know what’s really weird?Death… Death is really weird.Or… well, waking up from death, anyway.





	1. It's Like Waking Up From a Nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a sudden and gory start to this, my bad...

You know what’s really weird?

Death… Death is really weird.

Or… well, waking up from death, anyway.

It’s kind of like… waking up from a nap. One of those really deep, accidentally too long naps where you wake up and have to think about what year it is – one of those naps. Waking up from death is like waking up from a really long, disorienting nap.

Except waking up from death is even more unpleasant.

Especially since it feels like you’re about to hurl so bad that your stomach just comes out from your throat right next to whatever you had for lunch.

Dying itself wasn’t too bad though, but you couldn’t currently remember anything but black between having been walking down the street and suddenly waking up on the concrete, so maybe it wasn’t so much that death wasn’t unpleasant as it was that you couldn’t remember whether the afterlife was puppies and kittens or hellfire and brimstone. 

Either way, you think you would’ve rather taken the hellfire and brimstone than the absolute burning pain that seeped down into your bones, stinging and numbing cold in the same moment, the absolute pounding in your head from the sirens of ambulances and cop cars that surrounded you, and the terrifyingly worsening ache in your gut.

Your vision was absolutely spinning, probably on account of how fast and hard your body jerked up into an upright position, chest heaving as your lungs tried to pull in any amount of air they could get. Your vision was _spinning_ and covered in black splotches that made you want to hurl, so you shut your eyes as tight as you could, leaning over into your lap, hands covering your ears as the sirens blared so loud it felt like they’d split your skull.

There was a surprisingly clear “What the fuck?” whispered from in front of you; It made your eyes open to register the white ( _and terrifyingly blood soaked_ ) sheet pooled between your legs. Your gaze shot up towards the voice, vision blanking and spinning for a moment before it settled just enough for you to register two people standing in front of you; A camera dangled from one’s neck, both wearing matching jackets, and both well kept and professional appearing. You registered one looking around and yelling something; It took you a moment to register that it was something akin to “We’ve got a live one” or something like that; The camera person, a woman, just stared at you in awe as she raised her camera to her eye and took several photos in quick succession.

The flash blinded you temporarily, forcing you to bring your hands to your eyes to wipe away the flashes still showing up behind your closed eyelids. You rubbed your eyes into a slightly calmed state before looking up and around at your surroundings; The first thing you _thought_ you’d notice was that the ‘what the fuck’ guy who had been standing next to the camera lady was running off to get some doctors.

But what you instead noticed was a cargo truck that had hit one, two, three cars before flipping onto its side. The cars themselves were… well, you didn’t want to think about the fact that two of them could’ve been pancakes, and that the other had very obvious and copious amounts of blood spilling from its upside-down form. You didn’t want to think about the fact that the truck driver’s torso was half-way thrown through the windshield, that the flesh was pulled from his arms and glass shards stuck out from… everywhere you could see on him. You didn’t want to focus on the fact that there were three other white sheets on the ground near where you were, all covered in a deep red-soaked hue, and all a bit flatter than they should’ve been for grown people-

Wait… hadn’t there been a group of three people right in front of you? There was a couple, they were holding hands, and then there was an old guy with a briefcase-

There was ringing to your left, and you looked over, seeing what looked like an old, well loved blackberry ringing and vibrating across the ground.

Your hands immediately threw themselves up to your mouth as you gagged, stomach heaving and eyes shutting tight.

What the fuck had happened?

And instead of doing the perhaps logical thing of waiting for someone to come help you, of trying to formulate what had just happened like a regular person, you hauled yourself to your feet and took off.

You registered the yelling after you, the concerned and startled pleas slowly fading behind your person for you to stop, to wait, to come back. You didn’t do any of those things. You just moved as fast as your feet could carry you, which… considering the little pieces of information that were slowly piecing themselves together in an assumption of what happened, was a miracle; Not that your brain registered this, not fully. You were too busy launching yourself around a corner, down an alley, around another corner, and so on until the yells and the sirens had stopped barraging your brain space.

You didn’t stop running until you got to your door, shoved your key into the lock, and fell through into your apartment, falling onto your knees and scrambling to sit against the wall. You reached out, slammed the door shut, and pulled your arms and legs up against yourself, hugging around your body tightly as you sobbed.

You didn’t really know why. Maybe it was from what you saw, maybe it was for how you felt, or maybe it was just the stress…

But eventually you sobbed so hard that you had to stumble into the bathroom and vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I totally slapped this into Word in like 10-15 minutes and didn't re-read it and am just praying it's readable, so if there's issues, I'm sorry.  
> Feel free to correct me on those
> 
> Kudos / Comment / Suggestions are all loved <3


	2. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How had you come back from this?

Surprisingly, vomiting was weirdly cathartic. It grounded you. Heaving out the entirety of your guts sucked, and you had to pull off your hoodie and your t-shirt in order to feel like you weren't about to catch on fire from how hot you were, but in spite of that ( _or perhaps because of it_ ) you felt tethered. Your mind was no longer swimming in its own confusion, but instead focused on the pain and the heat, on that bead of sweat rolling down the center of your chest, the sweat at your temples, on making sure you didn’t fall face first into a toilet bowl full of your own semi-digested leftovers.

It focused you.

At least until you started to dry heave again, and then you returned to focusing solely on how shitty you felt.

It took longer than you would’ve appreciated for the shaking and the heat to subside, for the dry heaving to stop. You felt like shit. You felt disgusting and like absolute _shit_.

A shower… You needed a shower.

So without a second thought, you stripped yourself of the rest of your clothes, hopped into the shower, and gave a slight shriek when the not-yet-heated water bombarded your body. Despite the heat of your body that lingered from being sick, the bracing cold wasn’t welcome.

Eventually the water warmed up though, and you basked in the comfort it brought you. You focused more on making sure you were completely clean, mostly where your hair was concerned, picking out bits of gravel and dirt and trying not to focus on the feeling of semi-dried, clotted blood in your hair, than the blood that seeped off of your body and swam down the drain.

It was a longer shower than usual…

And only when you exited, having dried yourself off and brushed your hair, did you look down to your clothes and realize how blood-soaked they were. 

You almost felt like you were going to vomit again.

You surprised yourself when you didn’t. Maybe the stress and what you assumed to be shock turned you onto auto pilot as you grabbed your clothes and dumped them into your tub. You closed the drain, ran the water, and watched the cheap bathtub fill up as near to the brim as you were comfortable getting it with pink, blood-tinted water.

No amount of work washing your bled-through underwear or rarely bled-through pajama bottoms could have ever prepared you for how gross the water itself made you feel.

You held around yourself as you shuddered, backing out of the bathroom without looking away from the tub, as if your own clothes and blood might’ve attacked you had you turned away from them, before closing the door.

You stared at it for a moment before closing your eyes and taking several deep breaths.

**Food.**

You nearly jumped out of your own skin at the word. It was loud and rumbly and foreign and it made your gaze fling around your apartment. You looked towards your door, rushing over to lock it before your eyes scanned the few windows of your apartment, noting that each and every one was locked before looking towards your bedroom door.

Ajar.

**_Food._ **

Definitely not coming from the bedroom.

You had no time to think about the fact that you almost thought of it as your own voice in your head. Your body moved seemingly of its own volition towards your kitchenette, throwing open your fridge door. Your eyes landed squarely on some leftover chicken that you had forgotten was in there from a few days prior when you had decided to “treat yo’self” to the deliciously flavored skin of a grocery store roticery.

You didn’t even register having grabbed the tub it was in, pulling it up onto the counter, ripping off the plastic lid, and grabbing the thing whole to bring your lips to meet bare, cold chicken meat.

You got half the thing down before your eyes widen, your stomach heaved, and you yanked yourself back from the poor, pre-dead bird.

You regretfully swallowed the cold meat still in your mouth, and immediately made a noise of disgust. You grabbed your stomach, rolling over onto your knees as you curled in on yourself. Sure, cold chicken wasn’t appetizing, but it wasn’t the most disgusting thing you had eaten ( _so you were trying to convince yourself_ ), but scarfing down half of a large chicken wasn’t helping your nausea any.

Like… at all.

You eventually managed to pull yourself into an upright position, hands on your knees as you tried not to focus on the taste of cold chicken and remnant bile in your mouth.

You had forgot to brush your teeth.

You looked over to the bathroom and gave a resigned sigh.

You brushed your teeth as boringly as any other day, closed the door on your might-attack-you clothes again, and came to stand in front of the chicken on your counter. You shuddered and closed it up in its container before returning it to the fridge.

You didn’t want to waste good food, but you had a gut feeling that you couldn’t look at that chicken again without wanting to throw up or throw it away… Guess you’d have to see.

For a moment you were unsure what to do with yourself. You didn’t feel tired, despite the exhaustion that hurling your guts usually brought you when you got sick. You were certainly feeling that, but maybe it was the lingering adrenaline that kept you awake.

You eyes wandered over to the bathroom door.

Maybe it was the might-attack-you clothes…

And without even giving it any actual thought, your eyes snapped over to your laptop. You didn’t have a television in your apartment, couldn’t afford one and didn’t feel like wasting debt or money on getting one when you had a computer ready and able to serve.

You plopped yourself down onto the couch and pulled the notebook onto your lap, opening it up and pulling up google.

It was only a few seconds before you had several windows open in each quadrant of your screen, allowing you peruse multiple pieces of information at once. You clicked a link on one of them to find some shitty self-shot video of some wannabe-newscaster vlogger standing in front of the scene you had come from not yet an hour ago.

Nine registered casualties, and mention of some eye witnesses reporting on one body just up and leaving, making that ten casualties if it was to be trusted.

( _You regrettably knew for a fact that it should’ve been._ )

One of those casualties was a kid. You shuddered, and internally you almost wished that the reportedly seven year old girl had woken up instead of you.

The vlogger was in the middle of talking about how he had some ( _probably sketchy at best_ ) reports about how the contents of the cargo truck that had swerved off road ( _hitting four pedestrians as it did so_ ) had lost whatever cargo was inside it. He began to suggest foul play or theft when he was interrupted by someone trying to get him away from the scene. They fought over the camera or phone for a few moments before the feed went blank.

You were numb.

Nine people… dead.

Why were you so special?

What god or spirit or whatever had decided that _you_ were supposed to come back from the dead?

The other three people that had been walking near you when the accident happened had been pretty much crushed to a pulp, or so you had to assume… You went back and rewound the video a few times, focusing on the white specks that denotated their bodies in the background. 

How had you come back from that? You could only guess how awful your injuries must’ve been from the blood that soaked your clothes and seeped into the bath water that you didn’t want to think about for too long.

How had your body come out… like this?

You looked down to your forearms. Perfectly intact. Legs…. Just fine. You knew your face was just the same as it had been when you woke up this morning, on account of having to watch yourself brush your teeth in the mirror.

What the fuck were you still doing here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, we'll get to Eddie in a bit, I promise okay I promise
> 
>  
> 
> -crosses fingers that my drive doesn't give out on me-


	3. So Much Fluttering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boi <3

The last thing you remember was looking at the clock on your computer, seeing **3:27 am** and thinking “Huh, getting kind of late.”

And now here you were. Sweating like you had fallen asleep on the surface of the sun, your stomach turning so roughly it felt like a xenomorph was about to escape your body via belly button. Your entire body ached, your muscles felt stiff, and your head pounded. You tried opening your eyes, but it hurt too much to face the mid-morning sun that flooded through your windows.

It took several minutes before you felt confident that you wouldn’t hurl again. You reached over from the couch, having fallen asleep here, to grab your phone. Eleven in the morning… Well, closer to twelve, but you’d make yourself feel better by focusing on the late morning hour and not the “ **45** ” that was planted next to it.

You eased yourself into an upright position slowly, thanking some entity up above that it was Saturday and you didn’t have to work until Monday. Being a secretary-sometimes-day-care-worker at a school had its perks… Like two days a week off and summers to dick around.

You actually sat on your couch for several minutes longer than you meant to, your mind in some weird haze as you numbly looked around your apartment. The strumming of guitar and a gentle folk-singing voice softly hummed out from your laptop speakers. Your music must’ve gone down some random path of algorithms that landed you onto this genre of music, but considering your raging headache, you weren’t complaining about the softer sound. It provided something gentle to fill the silence without making your migraine worse.

Slowly, you tried easing yourself to a standing position, but found yourself flopping back down onto the couch. Your legs burned, and you had to guess it was because there wasn’t anymore adrenaline lingering in your system. Nothing to keep you from realizing how painful apparently coming back from the dead was.

You still weren’t even sure if that was what had happened but… you didn’t want to focus on the specifics.

You did manage to get yourself standing eventually though. You weren’t ready to face your nauseous stomach with breakfast, so you decided to go into the bathroom and do your morning routine. Bathroom, teeth…

Stare at your blood-water filled bathtub…

You gave a low groan. Better face this while you felt the slightest amount of resolve to do so.

You closed yourself into the bathroom, tugging out your portable washer/dryer from behind the door. Hooking it up took maybe a minute, at longest, but that wasn’t the part you were worried about. You had the washer portion running before turning to your tub and freezing.

It was just blood… it was just your blood, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

( _Or so you tried to tell yourself…_ )

You reached in, rather nervously, to unplug the tub’s drain. As the water gurgled and flowed down the drain, you picked out your clothes, untangling the sopping fabric pieces from each other so you could give them a proper once over. 

You stopped doing that once a large chunk of… something fell out from your tangled shirt.

You shoved everything into the wash as one huge lump, closed the lid, and then walked away.

You took way too long scrubbing the arm that had reached into the bathwater clean. Your arm was red and felt raw when you finally decided it was scrubbed well enough.

That was when you heard it. Some voice that had become oddly familiar to you over the past few months since having moved to this city, to this state even. 

He talked to himself an awful lot, but you did too sometimes… When you overheard him across the thin walls and thin hallway between your apartments though, he usually sounded annoyed or anxious, or he was arguing with himself about being out of tater tots. When you talked to yourself it was because you were thinking out loud or had no one to express anything to outside of your own laptop screen.

But you _did_ talk to yourself on occasion, as lonely as you were, so who were you to judge.

This morning ( _now afternoon, but you were still trying to feel better about having slept in so late_ ) it sounded like something about… chocolate? Coffee?

Your stomach gurgled and you gripped at it tightly. Considering your last meal was cold chicken, and your meal before that had ended up in the toilet, you were just fine accepting that your nauseous stomach was, for whatever reason, happy with the idea of a good cup of coffee.

The shitty coffee you had in your cabinets wasn’t going to cut it today, you told yourself. Hell, you had just **died** right? You deserved a good fucking cup of coffee today.

So you went to your room, dressed, and despite the fact that your legs, hips, lower back, and chest were all screaming loudly at you to rest, you grabbed your keys, your small bag, and headed out the door.

When you turned back around from locking your door, you came face to face with him. Your neighbor.

One ridiculously handsome Eddie Brock.

You knew him even before you had become his neighbor. Maybe not personally, but you watched his show before it got cut… Not that you’d ever admit that to him. That probably wasn’t a great topic of conversation, talking about a job that someone got fired from… Not that you ever had serious conversations with Brock anyway. Just little “Hey”s here and there, or silent nonchalant waves or nods or tight-lipped, polite smiles as you passed each other in the hallway. 

Your brain registered that he had said ‘hey’ and you moved to pull some hair behind your ear. You opted out of pulling your hair into a tail and possibly making your headache worse while getting ready, instead choosing a beanie of some army-green shade. 

“Hey….”

There was a moment where you and Eddie just watched each other, and you weren’t exactly sure why. This wasn’t the first time you two had met at your doors, but usually you left each other by now. Instead, you found yourself… apprehensive of his movements, paranoid, wary. It wasn’t something you had ever felt near him before, but you found yourself almost… angry that he was standing before you.

( _Unknown to you, he was confused about feeling something similar…_ )

Fuck you needed to go back to bed.

“You look like shit,” he mused in a semi-amused tone with some half-smirk that made you completely forget how wary you were of him in that moment, for whatever reason. It made your heart flutter.

You tried not to notice it.

What were you even supposed to say to that though? If he had said that on literally any other morning you would’ve laughed right along with him, said something about maybe not getting enough sleep, or getting _too much_ sleep, or… anything else but…

Today wasn’t any regular morning.

“Rough night,” you finally decided on. You hated how unsure your voice sounded, as if there had been a question mark at the end of that statement instead of the definitive ending period you had hoped for.

Eddie caught on to that little upturn at the end of your remark, but didn’t show it, or at least hoped he hadn’t. “Didn’t peg you as someone for rough night parties.” He also sounded questioning, as if this attempt at a playful conversation continuation was somehow wrong.

But a slight weight fell from his shoulders when you couldn’t help but smile and give a soft little laugh. “Yeah. Eating grocery rotisserie chicken and watching the news gets me pretty hungover the morning after,” you joked.

Eddie snickered at your stupid little admittance of the truth, probably assuming you were joking ( _and considering how quickly those words fell out of your mouth without you necessarily having wanted them to, you could only hope for that assumption_ ). “Right, yeah-“

He turned and began walking down the hall, and you followed suit. Despite the usual silence that fell between you two on the rare few times that you walked together like this until eventually parting ways, he kept speaking once he noticed you catch up.

“You hear about that crash last night?”

_Unfortunately, yes…_

“Nah, I was keeping up with political stuff. What happened?”

“Didn’t peg you for that type either.” You and Eddie shrugged in unison. “Truck got run off the road; Crashed three cars, hit three people… Something like… eight, nine dead?” 

The voice in which Eddie commented on this tragedy, ending his sentence by raising a hand to scratch at his jaw, made you almost… shocked. So nonchalant; There was a touch of sadness here, but it almost sounded like this was something he’d seen every day of his life at this point. Just… basic every day nine-people-dead car crash stuff, y’know, _the usual_.

“That’s… awful…” you murmured under your breath, looking down to watch your feet as you and Eddie made your way down the stairs, forgoing the elevator that had been broken for three months now. When were they going to fix that? 

Eddie, despite how quiet you were, heard you. He looked down to you, noticed how suddenly down you looked, and opted not to make further comment.

**Her heart is beating too quickly.**

Eddie shook his head, making some internal comment about how tragedies affected people, that you were probably nervous. 

“Where you headin’ to?” When you blinked up to Eddie, he noticed how you suddenly lightened up at the motion to bring up another topic. Don’t discuss nine-people-dead tragedies in front of you… noted.

You shrugged, tugging your hair behind your ear again. “Coffee… Rough night means I deserve to treat myself to some Sybil’s,” you mused with a touch of a smile.

Eddie made a face, not unpleasant, but certainly in thought for a moment before suggesting, “Mind if I tag along?” The look you suddenly gave him made him smile ever so slightly, and your heart fluttered again.

You failed at trying not to notice it.

“Rough night too…. Sybil’s is always a good place to unwind,” he shrugged.

He wasn’t wrong. It was a cute little café that was usually too full for your liking, but that meant that you could just listen to people talk while you worked on something on your laptop… You had forgone that this morning, but then again, you apparently would have Eddie with you so-

“Yeah,” you spoke much too quickly for your liking. Calm down a little, would you? Jeez.

You were smiling though, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile in turn.

“It’s a date.”

Immediately your expression dropped, but you picked it up quickly enough, only skipping the smallest of beats in the conversation. Eddie noticed though and shoved his hands a bit deeper into his hoodie pockets. 

“A date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just slapping these chapters together as I go. I'm on the same "What's going to happen next??" rollercoaster as y'all, lol
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos / Comments / Suggestions always loved <3


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